Monster
by lunatic922
Summary: Scott discovers a body in the woods-and he's the killer. Can he finally learn to control his other side? Or will he end up severing his last ties to his humanity? Takes place between Seasons 2 and 3. Many thanks to AwasteofBytes for being my ever patient and supportive beta reader. Warning: Gore, no LAX
1. Chapter 1

For the second time in his life, Scott McCall woke up to find himself in the middle of Beacon Hills' preserve. He sat up from a pile of leaves and tried to get his bearings.

Though it was still night by most people's standards, he saw the first fingers of the sun's light steal over the horizon's edge. Birds stirred, ruffling their feathers in preparation for their morning songs. He felt the chill in the air give way to summer's warmth as night yielded to day. His keen nose detected a metallic edge to the air. Like the last time he'd woken up on the forest floor, he had no idea how he ended up at his current location.

But this time, he was covered in blood.

A sticky layer coated his hands and forearms. He realized with horror that he had a trail of it trickling from his mouth down to his throat, staining his torn t-shirt red.

_What had he done?_

Desperate, Scott tried to recall the night before, but he could only retrieve fragments. Running through the woods. Chasing someone. No, _hunting_. Cornering his prey. Using his claws to rip open a throat.

This must be a nightmare.

He pinched himself, hoping to find himself back in the familiar comfort of his bedroom. But his surroundings refused to budge. He succeeded only in leaving a crimson smear on his arm.

This was no dream.

He glanced to his left. There, lying face-down on the dirt was Isaac. The other boy's head was turned away and blood pooled beneath his upper body.

Scott's stomach lurched. He understood that he'd finally lost the battle to instinct. All the self-control he'd cultivated so carefully had failed him. The _Other_ had won and he'd savagely taken the life of another person. A friend.

Panicked, he began to hyperventilate. This couldn't be happening! He pinched his arm again, willing himself to wake up for real this time. It wasn't working.

Suddenly, the other boy groaned. Isaac rolled onto his back, mouth half-open and emitted a soft snore. Relieved, Scott offered up a prayer of thanks and his breathing returned to normal.

Isaac's mouth was also streaked with blood and Scott was no closer to discovering the source. He stood up and slowly turned in a circle, taking in every detail of the clearing. Broken branches and tree trunks scored with claw marks spoke of an intense struggle.

After turning nearly 180 degrees, his eyes finally landed on the corpse. What was left of it.

The victim's head bowed backwards, as if silenced mid-scream. His stomach had been sliced open by a single, long incision, spilling innards and gore across the leaves. His throat had been violently torn out, along with what seemed like a fair share of his internal organs.

Scott retched, sickened by the sight.


	2. Chapter 2

"So we killed a deer."

Isaac woke up shortly after Scott and was now mulling over their situation, trying to spin it in a way that made the other werewolf feel better. They were walking home, the morning sky still dark enough for them to travel unseen. There wasn't a source of water nearby, so both teens remained covered with the remnants of last night's carnage. With leaves in their hair and torn clothes, they looked wild, as if they'd escaped a horror movie. If anyone spotted them, no doubt they'd have to start running or risk arrest.

"Ok, it's weird to think about. Really weird. But at least we didn't kill a person," Isaac pointed out. "Lots of people hunt and kill deer, so it's not like we're doing anything that hasn't been done before."

"They usually use guns. Not their bare hands," Scott held up a bloody hand to prove his point. "And they usually cook it first."

"Unless they're making jerky. Then they…" Isaac stopped explaining when he saw the look on Scott's face.

"Listen, it's not that bad. I mean, we're werewolves. Hunting animals kind of comes with the territory, I guess."

"Easy for you to say. I didn't choose to become a monster. You did."

"I'm not a monster! And neither are you," Isaac said. He found Scott's thinking on the matter to be limited, a knee-jerk reaction of his feelings towards the Hales. Isaac knew first-hand that being human didn't exempt you from being a monster. In his mind, it was a person's actions and the harm they inflicted on others that defined the monsters of the world.

"Really? Then what exactly are we?" Scott kicked at the ground. "We're not human. We change shape during the full moon. We've all had the urge to kill people. Just like Peter."

"Just because we're not normal doesn't mean we should be ashamed of what we are. Remember, Matt and Gerard did just as much damage as Peter. Maybe even more. And Peter killing people doesn't mean you or I would kill someone."

Scott didn't say anything and just shoved his hands in his pockets. Isaac knew he wasn't convinced.

"Derek's right, we are predators. But we're not blind killers."

Scott grimaced at the mention of the older werewolf's name.

"As you yourself prove, we can learn manage those instincts, especially if we have an anchor. This isn't some sort of condition that's gonna go away, Scott. At some point, you gotta learn to accept what you are. You'll be better off," Isaac said.

"You're wrong, we're dangerous. What we need is greater self-control."

Frustrated, Isaac stopped arguing and instead began licking his fingers clean.

"What are you doing?!" Scott stopped and stared, wide-eyed. "That's disgusting."

Isaac pulled his bloody index finger slowly out of his mouth. He gave Scott a defiant glare.

"We are what we are. We didn't hurt any people and I'm not going to lose sleep over killing an animal." He wagged his fingers at Scott. "And besides, it tastes good. You should try it."

Scott growled in disapproval. Isaac shrugged.

As they walked home in silence, Scott thought back to the first time he really grasped he was no longer human. It was something his mom said a couple weeks after his first full moon that revealed the bite had changed him more than he first understood.

"Since when do you like your burgers rare?" His mom had asked.

They were at the Beacon Hill Grille getting burgers out, a treat the McCalls seldom splurged on. His mom had been working a lot of overtime and he'd been so busy with Allison and finding the Alpha that this was the first dinner they'd had together in weeks.

Scott swallowed a mouthful of the offending entree.

"What are you talking about?"

"Your burger. You ordered it rare. But you've always gotten them well-done."

"Oh."

His mom was right. He hadn't even noticed. He tried to pinpoint when he'd starting liking them this way. Recently he'd been getting his burgers rare when he and Stiles been grabbing food with the team after practice.

Ever since he'd made first line.

_Ever since he turned._

"I guess I'm just learning to like new things," he offered.

"Does this mean you're going to start enjoying foie gras and crème fraîche? 'Cause you know that's not in our budget, kiddo."

"Probably not. Also, I have no idea what either of those things is," Scott said. He wanted to push away the unfinished burger, his appetite vanished. Instead, he smiled and continued eating, because he knew that's what his mom expected.

Inside, worry began to gnaw at him. Clearly, he'd been so preoccupied with the obvious drawbacks of his transformation that he'd missed the more subtle changes. He still liked the same bands, still had the same friends, and still had the same memories as he did before. Most of the time it seemed unreal to him that he'd become a werewolf. Almost a joke—as if it had happened to someone else. He still felt like Scott McCall, except for those moments when the wolf took over.

Then, he felt every agonizing sensation as his entire body reshaped itself into something else.

The thought of going into a blind rage when he transformed frightened him beyond belief. That he couldn't remember doing so frightened him even more. He didn't have feelings like that. _Couldn't_ have feelings like that.

Scott tried to wrap his head around the idea that he now had the instincts of a predator. On the drive home from dinner, he vowed to master his werewolf side. The Other, as he'd begun thinking of the set of impulses and drives alien to the person he really was. It was an enemy he would defeat, no matter what.

But as the months passed, he learned it wasn't that simple.

There was the incident at the school, the night Peter forced him to shift against his will. The Other almost won and it was only by the narrowest margins he avoided slaughtering Jackson, Lydia, Allison, and Stiles.

He barely managed to shift back, and he blanched when he remembered the thrill he'd felt at the murderous rage coursing through his veins. Whether those feelings belonged to the Other or to Peter he wasn't sure. He just knew they couldn't belong to him.

There were other things, little things. At lacrosse practice he had to restrain himself from chasing other players at full speed when they ran from him. And he noticed every small animal within earshot. With his heightened hearing it proved to be a constant distraction.

He also felt his heart beat a little faster when he smelled fear on another person, whether it was on the field or in the hallways. High school was full of fear and there were days he was nearly drunk from the potent energy that flooded the halls. He tried to squelch the exhilaration that surged through him, calling to the Other like a siren song, but he couldn't deny it was there.

One night, he raided the kitchen for a midnight snack. After a few minutes, he discovered he had absent-mindedly been eating raw meat his mom intended to use for dinner the next day. Repulsed, he washed the rest of the contents down the sink. He went to the grocery store as soon as it opened and replaced the entire package while his mom slept in.

And then there were the dreams.

The dream of killing Allison on the bus was the first. He told Stiles about that dream, not knowing it spilled over to the real world.

Soon, other dreams followed.

Vivid dreams in which he was stalking, hunting, and killing. Sometimes it was a person. Other times, it was a deer or a mountain lion. Worst was when he caught his target and ripped his victim apart, feasting on soft flesh, dripping with blood still hot with the life he'd ended. He always woke up from these dreams in a cold sweat, heart racing. But it wasn't terror he felt upon waking.

It was excitement.

He didn't tell anyone about these new dreams. He wouldn't even know where to begin or how to describe what he experienced. If he was disturbed by them, no doubt someone else would send him to the nearest shrink for evaluation.

To tell his friends he dreamed of slaughtering people might drive them away for good, severing the last thread that tied Scott to his old life—and his humanity.

So Scott willed himself to stifle the animal urges. As he grew stronger, so did his ability to suppress the Other. The frequency of his nightmares decreased. After a couple months he stopped having them altogether. He managed to feel almost normal again.

But the night they defeated Gerard and Scott told Derek he wasn't his Alpha, the dreams came roaring back. He'd had one nearly every night since. They were every bit as explicit as when he first turned. But back then, Peter had been trying to bend Scott to his will by exploiting their supernatural link.

Scott didn't know what caused them now.

He redoubled his efforts to exert control and beat the monster into submission. It seemed like last night, he had lost.

Scott managed to climb into his window without leaving too much blood on the sill. At least, he hoped so. It was hard not to leave a trail when you were covered in the stuff. He also hoped that his return had been quiet enough to escape his mom's notice.

The sun had risen and as the day began, exhaustion overwhelmed him. He wanted nothing more than to dive straight under the covers, but thanks to his diligent efforts to bring up his grades, he was allowed to play sports.

August had just begun and Coach demanded that the team, especially those on first-line, avoid contact sports in the fall lest they sustain an injury that interfered with their ability to play come spring. Coach expected everyone from the lacrosse team at an 8am tryout session for the track and field team. Partially, this was due to Coach's impression that running was less of a liability because of the more solitary nature of the sport. But Scott suspected the real reason Coach wanted them to try out for track was because he served as co-advisor to the track program, giving him greater control over the strain his key players endured.

Sleep would have to wait—a shower to remove the residue from the night before was the first order of business.

He took off his bloody shirt and tossed it on the floor. He'd have to dispose of it before his mom could find it. Now that she knew what he was, any negative trace of his other life would send his mom into overdrive. The last thing he wanted was for her to withdraw from him again after all the progress they had made this summer.

As he sat there, he thought about Isaac licking the deer blood from his fingers. Scott couldn't help but wonder if Isaac was right. Would he enjoy it?

Disgusted that he even entertained the idea, Scott shook his head.

But then curiosity got the better of him.

He tentatively tasted a finger.

It _was_ good.

And it was at this moment Stiles burst into Scott's room.

"Scott? You better be ready because I am not gonna be late for…" The words died on his lips when he saw Scott. He froze in place, mouth hanging open.

The room was colored by shades of red, which meant that Scott's eyes had shifted, making matters worse. He let his hand drop from his mouth.

"Stiles, I can explain. It's not what it looks like…" Scott said. He stood up, careful not to move too quickly. His caution was wasted. The other boy took off like a shot, bolting down the stairs and out the front door.

Dejected, Scott listened to Stiles' Jeep peel out of the driveway, tires squealing as the car raced down the street.

This was not good. Scott knew what it looked like. He knew what he would have thought if he'd seen him. Werewolves didn't just happen to wind up drenched in blood. Now, he had to convince Stiles that he hadn't killed a person. He hoped Stiles would listen to the truth at tryouts.

He had to.


	3. Chapter 3

Stiles didn't stop driving until he arrived at the school parking lot.

He slammed on the brakes. He clutched the steering wheel in a white-knuckled death grip. Seeing as he didn't slow the Jeep below 50 miles the whole way, he had managed to arrive 30 minutes early for track tryouts. Which gave him plenty of time to think.

He tried to erase what he just saw from his mind, but found he couldn't.

Holy mother of god.

Things had finally gone too far. No matter what he tried, he couldn't banish the disturbing image of his friend, bloodied and feral. The scene was burned into his mind.

His best friend had just butchered someone.

His best friend, who he'd known since he was four; who had the worst poker face known to mankind; who let him win at Halo, because Stiles hated to lose; who once carried an injured bird in a box, five miles to the vet, just to make sure it would be saved.

He'd seen a lot of things Scott had done since turning that seemed out of character, including that cold-hearted rant during his second full moon. Stiles had always been able to rationalize things. No matter what, he'd always been able to recognize his friend underneath it all.

This time, he didn't recognize the yellow-eyed figure, calmly licking blood off its fingers. All he could see was something dangerous and that something stirred the fear in the most primal part of his brain. Trying to convince himself that the monster and his friend were one and the same made his head hurt.

When Scott had first been bitten, everything had seemed like an interesting, very interactive video game come to life. Sure, Scott behaved unpredictably, losing control at inopportune moments, but that was all part of the challenge. Stiles could handle it. After all, they had bigger fish to fry. There was the Alpha to defeat and hunters to outwit. The lines had been clearly drawn, and Stiles knew which side he was on. He assumed if he kept his focus on winning, everything would be ok. Only when it was too late did the reality of the situation hit him.

The reality where people died. The reality where Matt killed innocent people to satisfy a years' old grudge. The reality where his dad lost his job. The reality where an old man cruelly manipulated people simply to prolong his life. The reality where nothing was black and white.

Stiles strained under the burden of not only Scott's secret, but the new supernatural world he'd become privy to. And the horrors he'd been forced to confront because of this knowledge.

Discovering bodies. Locking Scott up during the full moon. Setting Peter Hale on fire. Watching the mechanic get crushed to death, while he lay paralyzed on the floor.

He had told Scott the night Jackson died on the field that he couldn't do it. Even so, he'd always managed to keep up with all that was going on. In fact, Stiles usually was one step ahead when it came to unraveling the latest mystery.

But the deeper he was pulled into the supernatural, the more he felt like the last man standing in a dangerous world. Over the past few months, he felt control of the situation slipping away. But at least he always knew who the enemy was. Where the danger was coming from.

Until today.

What happened this morning stripped him of his last mental defense. He was no longer sure what he could believe. He no longer could be sure that his Scott was stronger than his instincts.

If Scott could kill someone, what else would he do? Could he trust Scott not to turn on him? Would he wind up like Peter, capable of killing for revenge, regardless of who got hurt in the process? Or worse—could he become even more dangerous, seeing as he lacked Peter's ruthless self-control?

Stiles needed time to process everything. The only way he was going to get that was to distance himself from the situation.

And Scott.


	4. Chapter 4

If Scott thought Stiles would be more receptive to the truth once they arrived at the tryouts, he was quickly proven wrong.

For the entire two-hour session Stiles avoided Scott, not even glancing in his direction. During the rounds of sprints and field event qualifiers, Stiles managed to always be on the opposite side of the track, ensuring that their paths never crossed. Despite the distance, his fear came across plainly, like a slap in the face.

Frustrated, Scott played along. He sublimated his feelings into an aggressive approach that Coach heartily endorsed.

"Atta boy, McCall! Don't give anything away—make 'em work for it!"

Scott bided his time, planning to corner Stiles the one place he couldn't escape: the locker room. As the team filed past the rows of lockers, he maneuvered his way next to Stiles.

"Stiles!" He tried to get his attention with a stage whisper. When Stiles ignored him he tried again, louder. "Stiles!"

No response.

Undeterred, he decided to press on in the face of defeat, shadowing Stiles to his locker. Without a word, Stiles grabbed his gym bag from the locker and changed out of his running clothes.

"Just let me explain. See, it was a deer…"

Stiles faced Scott and held up a hand.

"Stop. Just stop. I don't want an explanation. Right now, I just want to forget everything I saw."

He slammed his locker shut and Scott flinched.

"Come on, Stiles, just hear him out."

Isaac came up to where they were standing. He leaned against the opposite row of lockers.

"You can at least do that, right?"

"No, I can't. And it's none of your damn business Lahey, so butt out," Stiles said. He glared at the intruder. Not intimidated, Isaac flashed a wide grin.

"Actually, seeing as I was there, it is sort of my business. He's telling you the truth. It was just a deer."

Stiles looked first to Isaac and then to Scott. He shook his head. Scott looked down at the ground.

"Figures."

Stiles slung his gym bag over his shoulder and walked away. Scott sat on the closest bench, deflated. So much for the idea that Stiles would hear him out. What if he never talked to him again? There had to be another way to get him to listen. Scott just needed more time.

"Well, I tried to help," Isaac shrugged.

"I don't need help. I'll try again later," Scott said. His locker was next to Stiles' and he started putting away his things. "I'll make it right."

He had to be at work in less than an hour and he was nowhere near ready. Scott tried to quickly gather what he needed to hit the showers. He hated rushing, but trying to talk to Stiles put him behind schedule.

"You are persistent McCall, I'll give you that," Isaac said. "Anyway, you wanna hang out later? The Hales are having a family pow-wow. I'm not invited, so I've got some time to kill tonight," Isaac said, trying to change the subject. "Pun not intended."

"Sure," Scott replied. He might need the distraction later and Isaac meant well, at any rate. "I'll call you after work."

"Listen, don't worry about Stiles. He'll come around."

"Thanks," Scott said. "I hope so."


	5. Chapter 5

When Scott arrived at work, his outlook was bleak. He'd had the entire bike-ride over to analyze that morning's disastrous practice. And he couldn't see an upside. It seemed Stiles had reached some sort of breaking point. All he could do now was wait and hope something changed.

If Deaton noticed his sour mood, he didn't say anything. Scott was grateful the vet wasn't inclined to pry. Not that Scott expected his boss to remain ignorant—he seemed to figure a lot out courtesy of his own devices.

The next few hours were busy and the activity kept Scott's mind off of Stiles' pointed avoidance. There was a sick cat, a puppy getting his shots, and a Great Dane with a broken leg. At the end of his shift, he set about cleaning the exam room and the situation returned to the forefront of his mind.

Stiles had always been his friend, since they were almost too young to remember. Scott couldn't imagine not ever hanging out with the boisterous teen again. No more unannounced visits or crazy schemes. Who would be his sounding board? There was no one else Scott knew he could depend on to have his back unconditionally, especially with all that was going on. Well, there was his mom but he couldn't talk to her about everything. It was just too weird. And he'd probably give her nightmares.

Life without Stiles was inconceivable, like someone cutting off his right arm. No way he could function. Now, due to the Other's influence, it seemed unavoidable.

"Scott, you seem preoccupied today," Deaton's voice interrupted his reverie.

"Oh, sorry."

"You don't have to apologize. Anything you want to talk about?"

"Not really," Scott started scrubbing the exam table. A little too vigorously, apparently, as the table tipped over from his efforts. He snarled and threw down the cleaning rag he'd been using. His vision bled into shades of red.

Deaton raised an eyebrow. Scott took a few deep breaths and the clinic returned to normal.

"It's just..." Scott searched for the words, but couldn't find any to express his frustration. "Am I always gonna be this way?"

"I'm afraid there isn't a cure, Scott."

"No! I mean, I know that," he sighed, "what I meant is will I always have to be fighting this."

He gestured to himself. The vet considered for a moment, before responding.

"No, I don't think so. I believe you're still somewhat inexperienced."

"I guess that means I'll just have to work harder to suppress it."

"Self-mastery isn't just a matter of will, Scott. It takes practice. And acceptance." Deaton patted Scott on the shoulder. "Without it, you're only treading water."

After he finished cleaning the table, Scott collected his things and headed home in search of distraction. Deaton was wrong. If he wasn't hard on himself, next time he might really kill someone.


	6. Chapter 6

"Did you forget something?" Deaton asked without looking up from the sink full of instruments he was prepping for sterilization.

"It's not Scott."

Stiles stood in the doorway of the exam room, feeling like an intruder for trespassing on Scott's turf. He'd waited until he knew Scott was at least halfway home before pulling up to the clinic.

"Ah, Stiles. You missed Scott. He's already on his way home."

"I know," the teen awkwardly rapped his knuckles against the wooden frame. "I didn't come to see Scott."

"I see," The vet dried his hands and gestured towards a stool beside the exam table. "Have a seat. What can I do for you?"

Stiles perched on the edge of the cold metal seat. For a moment, he didn't say a word, unsure how to begin.

"You used to work with them, right?"

"Them?" The vet raised an eyebrow.

"The Hales."

"I've dealt with quite a few members of the Hale family, yes. But that was a long time ago," Deaton's voice retained that impossible calm that mystified Stiles.

"So you know a lot about werewolves, right?"

"My knowledge isn't without limits, but you could say that."

Stiles reflected carefully before posing his next question. It was one he'd avoided asking himself and he wasn't sure he was ready for the answer. He knew Scott's boss would be honest, even if the answer wasn't good news.

"How dangerous are they, really?"

"Well, that depends."

"Depends on what?"

"Some are more dangerous than others; some are more prone to violence than others. Just like the rest of us."

"The rest of us don't have claws."

Stiles shuddered at the still-fresh memory of the scene from that morning. He caught Deaton watching him, observing his reaction.

"Something I've learned over the years is that you can tell a lot about a person's true nature from how he connects with the people around him. Those with the strongest bonds to others tend to carry that with them, even during circumstances beyond their control."

The teen absent-mindedly swiveled back and forth on the stool, brooding on the likelihood that Scott's connections to the people in his life could keep werewolf instincts in check. Stiles reflected that his friend did do his best to keep his people safe—Stiles remembered Scott's determination to protect Lydia and his stubborn insistence that Jackson could be saved. Maybe all wasn't lost. Stiles resolved to explore this perspective when he had more time alone and switched his line of questioning.

"So how do you deal with all of this? I mean, all this supernatural stuff."

"I do my research. Not everything is as it seems, so it's best to act carefully when you don't have all the facts."

Deaton sat down on a nearby stool.

"Did you know the animal control team found a dead deer in the woods this morning? Another animal attack. They asked me to take a look."

"They did? What killed it?" Stiles swallowed, his throat dry. He stood up and began pacing the length of the room.

"They assumed it was a mountain lion, naturally. I expressed my doubts—seemed more like a wolf to me. But you know how it is, people see what they want to see."

Stiles stopped.

So Scott had been telling him the truth. He and Isaac had killed a deer last night. Stiles felt a surge of relief that his friend hadn't killed a person, after all. He offered what he knew of the incident, hoping to gain more information.

"Isaac was with him," he ran his hand through his hair. "When he ki...last night."

"He was? That's interesting."

"Why is that interesting?"

"Why do wolves hunt together?"

"How is that even an answer? You just responded to my question with another question!" Stiles threw up his arms.

Deaton stood up and smiled.

"Think about it Stiles. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to finish cleaning up in here."

Stiles gritted his teeth and left the clinic.


	7. Chapter 7

"Ha! I win, again!" Isaac threw down his game controller and pumped his fist in the air, "I rule!"

Scott rolled his eyes. For all that they butted heads, Isaac and Stiles had a near-identical winning style: excessive gloating.

"Four in a row. Nice," Scott said.

"Dude, you're not even trying! At least give me a little competition."

But Scott _was_ trying. No matter how much he attempted to focus on the game, he just kept circling back to Deaton's advice. He had no clue how he was supposed to learn to accept the Other. It was part of him, yes. But a part he despised. If he could, he'd excise it with one of the scalpels Deaton used to operate on animals.

Normally, he'd turn to Stiles to help him interpret the cryptic things people in his life had taken to saying. Seeing as that wasn't an option, Scott was at a loss at what to do next.

"Ok, one more game," he said, feigning enthusiasm. "This time, I'll win."

Scott still hadn't determined why last night had been different. He'd never killed anything before. Not even bugs. Why start now? What had triggered the Other?

After work he pieced together the entire night, including some memories he wished had remained lost.

Yesterday afternoon he and Isaac had met in the preserve to discuss the alpha pack.

"Can Derek even prove there is an alpha pack?" Scott had asked Isaac. "How many of them are there? What does he intend to do about them? "

"He doesn't tell me anything." Isaac slashed at a tree, leaving deep gashes in the trunk. "Honestly, I don't think he has a clue what to do."

"How are we supposed to protect ourselves?"

"He says to leave it to him. I think we're screwed, basically. I think he's gonna ignore it until it's too late," Isaac slashed again. "I'm thinking I'd be better off if I was more like you."

"An Omega? Trust me, it's way more trouble than it's worth. If you stay with Derek, at least he'll protect you. And he probably knows more than we realize," Scott pointed out. "But maybe there is something we could do, since Derek won't tell you anything."

"What?"

"We could find out more about the alphas ourselves."

And so they'd started the evening combing the forest for any and all signs of the alpha pack, working as a team to break the woods up into a manageable search grid. Scott reasoned that if there was, in fact, a pack like that in town, they would leave proof of their existence. A footprint. A strand of hair. Claw marks. Something they could use to gain a starting point for their investigation.

Both he and Isaac had progressed in their tracking skills over the summer and this would be their first real practical application. Despite their new aptitude, their efforts yielded nothing concrete. As the night went on, they grew more and more frustrated.

Scott remembered feeling cagey, like he did during the full moon—the fruitless quest had left him feeling unfulfilled. He could smell Isaac's frustration and it spurred him to push on through the dark brush. They would not be denied a successful completion to the hunt. It was he who smelled the deer first. But it didn't take long for Isaac to catch the scent. After that, it was only a matter of time before they overtook their quarry.

"Alright, you can be player 1."

Scott snapped back to the present as Isaac handed him a controller.

"Sure," he said and tried once again to focus on the game.


	8. Chapter 8

It was after 2 am, and Stiles was no closer to finding the answer he sought. He rubbed his eyes, exhausted from staring at the 24-inch computer monitor on his desk. Books lay scattered across nearly every flat surface, including the bed he had yet to sleep in.

He'd been at it for nearly twelve hours straight—scouring websites, forums, blogs, and old books for anything and everything about why wolves and werewolves hunted.

So far, all he discovered was that both killed in self-defense and that wolves hunted for food, while werewolves could usually obtain food through mundane channels available to most people. There was the rare account of werewolves who lived isolated from society and hunted for their own meat, like their lupine counterparts.

He read though a lot of stories and myths he had never encountered before. The bulk of it was dubious, if not outright wrong, based on his personal crash-course in lycanthropy. Of course, some of the stories gave him ideas for theories he longed to test.

That is, if he could hang out with Scott without picturing dismembered deer corpses.

During his research, he'd had a chance to review the animal control report Deaton had mentioned. The pictures made a lasting impression. Knowing that Scott and Isaac had killed a deer and not a person was a small comfort when he saw the results of their handiwork. It was enough to put him off meat for a few days.

"What are you still doing up? You'll ruin your eyes staring at that screen all the time." Sheriff Stilinski scolded Stiles from just inside his bedroom door. His dad was still in his khaki uniform, clearly returning from a stint on the night shift.

"Hey dad. Just doing some research."

"Research? School hasn't even started yet. It's nearly three in the morning! Go to bed!"

"Ok, I will. Soon," Stiles replied. "Hey dad, why do wolves hunt together?"

"I don't know Stiles." The Sheriff threw up his arms in baffled frustration. Stiles's random questions always threw him for a loop. "Because they're in a pack."

Stiles snorted.

"Thanks for the insight."

"Goodnight, Stiles. Now!" His dad commanded. He looked like he was about to add something, but then decided the fight wasn't worth it.

"Wolves hunt together because they're in a pack," Stiles mimicked his father, hunching back over the keyboard. "Brilliant wolf expert, my dad."

He resumed puzzling out why Scott and Isaac had killed the deer.

Scott may have renewed faith in Isaac, but Stiles didn't trust the other werewolf to exercise much self-control. He had no trouble picturing Derek's first beta chomping into poor Bambi.

As for his best friend, Scott had told Stiles before that he was no killer.

After reviewing every opportunity Scott could have killed someone, but didn't, he realized that he was right. Scott was no killer, not even during the early incidents when he lost complete control. Every time, he had managed to pull himself back from the brink.

That first full moon, he tried to force Stiles to stay away. That awful evening at the school, he locked them up to prevent himself from attacking them. The night Peter tried to get Scott to help him kill the bus driver as part of his pack, Scott refused.

So why now? What had changed? That's what Deaton wanted him to understand. Stiles felt like the answer was lurking inches below the surface, just beyond his grasp.

Suddenly, Stiles straightened, eyes wide.

His dad was right, after all.


	9. Chapter 9

Scott sucked at meditating.

It was his tenth attempt in an hour. Based on what he'd read, meditating was supposed to help you learn to focus. In theory, this would help him find his center, so he could learn to make peace with the Other. Or something to that effect.

All one needed to do was empty his or her mind and simply be aware of the moment, which didn't seem that difficult to Scott. But every time he tried to clear his mind, thoughts came flooding in. He felt anything but peaceful.

Clearly, he was doing something wrong.

He managed to sleep well the night before, in spite of everything. The only dreams he had had been pleasant ones, free from the worries that had dogged his past few days. When he woke, he felt a calmness radiating throughout his body.

He decided to research ways he could recapture that feeling. Deaton implied he needed to accept his werewolf side if he hoped to master and try as he might, Scott would not succeed in banishing the beast to exile in the far reaches of his psyche. After a few hours of diligent searching, Scott figured meditation was the best option to achieve his goal of facing the monster within.

At first he worried it was too touchy feely, but he had read about how ancient warriors and ninjas in Japan meditated in order to allow themselves to rise to the pinnacle of the art of the sword. Ninjas were definitely bad-ass. Scott decided that if it was good enough for a ninja, it was good enough for him.

He first attempted to meditate that morning, but he kept losing interest and falling asleep. Then, his mom had interrupted with lunch. So now, it was mid-afternoon and he still had yet to find his center.

He repositioned himself on his bed, legs crossed, arms relaxed. He shrugged his shoulders a few times, trying to loosen up.

"Ok, Scott, you can do this," he said, rolling his head in a circle. "Meditate…now!"

He inhaled, and then exhaled, focusing his attention on the sound of his breath. Inhale, exhale. Inhale, exhale.

Soon, he noticed something. The sounds around him became clearer. He could hear his mother downstairs, turning the pages in her book. He could also hear the steady beat of her heart. Then, he picked up the Hendersons down the street arguing about where to position the new divan. Then, he heard the tell-tale crunch of a fender bender on the other side of town.

_Crap._

His concentration was running away from him. He refocused on his breathing, noticing the information bombarding his senses, but not dwelling on any single thing.

Just when he thought nothing was happening, the sounds and smells of his neighborhood melted away.

Confused, Scott found himself in an enormous forest. It was night. There was no moon, only stars. Trees towered over him. On his right was a fast-moving stream as clear as a pane of glass.

He was running. Although he seemed to be going full speed, he felt he could maintain this pace for hours without tiring. The crisp air smelled of pine and all the joys summer had to offer.

The warm evening air refreshed him. The jitters from before vanished, leaving Scott feeling calm, unhurried.

But he soon realized he wasn't alone. On his left he sensed a presence keeping pace with him as he ran. It moved without sound, but Scott could feel its eyes on him. He ventured a glance to see what was accompanying him on his run.

It was a wolf, black as the night sky above. The teen stumbled, but quickly regained his balance.

There was something familiar about it, but he couldn't figure out what. Alarmed, Scott quickened his pace but found he couldn't shake his silent running partner. They ran and ran, sometimes faster, sometimes slower, but the animal always kept pace.

He thought they would continue this way forever but the forest abruptly ended and opened out onto a cliff's edge. Scott skidded to a halt.

Scott reeled around and found himself staring into the yellow eyes of his pursuer. Surprisingly, the wolf made no attempt to close the distance between them. It simply stood still and looked at him.

"What do you want?" he asked. The wolf said nothing. Not that Scott expected it to. Even for a werewolf, talking animals seemed a bit of a stretch. He stared at it, fascinated. He'd never seen a real wolf before. This was the creature that he supposedly shared kinship with and Scott marveled at what it was like to be up close to a real, live wolf. He thought he should be more frightened than he was.

"Go away!"

In an instant, the wolf leaped and tackled Scott to the dirt. Snarling, the wolf pinned him against the ground with its powerful forelegs. Scott could do nothing but stare into the creature's face. For a moment, the wolf simply loomed above him, teeth bared. It growled, but did not strike out at him. The message was clear—it would not yield to Scott's demand. It would not go away.

Then, something extraordinary happened.

The wolf blinked its eyes. When they opened, they were brown, human. The wolf blinked again and the eyes reverted to yellow, once more.

"Scott! Time for dinner!"

His mother's voice yanked him back to his bedroom, breaking the spell. Seemed there was something to this mediation stuff, after all.


	10. Chapter 10

Three days had passed and Scott had been to see the wolf almost a dozen more times.

The first few times, he simply had relived the jog to the cliff, no longer surprised when the wolf joined him. Each of these visits ended with Scott merely holding the gaze of the mysterious animal. After a few minutes, the wolf simply loped off into the forest, leaving him standing alone and confused.

On his fourth visit to the woods, he'd had a breakthrough. The wolf had moved to leave as usual, but when it approached the woods, it stopped and turned back towards Scott. Ever so slightly, it beckoned with its head towards the forest.

"You want me to follow you?" Scott asked, unsure. Scott didn't speak wolf, but the wolf seemed to understand English just fine.

The wolf trotted off. Scott followed and found the creature waiting for him just past the clearing's edge. Assured it had Scott's attention, the wolf took off in a sprint through the trees and Scott desperately tried to keep up. They crossed into unfamiliar terrain, filled with various ravines, hills, and rocks. The wolf traversed the obstacles with ease and patiently waited for Scott to follow suit, slowly whenever he fell too far behind.

After a few rounds of this, Scott began observing how the wolf moved and mimicked its graceful stride. He noticed that he began to move more fluidly throughout the landscape, no longer struggling to match the wolf's pace. They continued to run until they reached the cliff again.

The wolf stopped and looked at Scott. Once again, his eyes changed from golden to brown, like a human's. The brown eyes struck Scott as vaguely familiar. Then he realized why.

_They were his eyes._

Why would the wolf have his eyes? Unless. Scott had a thought that distressed him so much he stumbled backwards, tumbling to the ground.

The wolf was the Other.

_His Other._

Scott came back to reality shaking.

Like it or not, Scott couldn't deny anymore that he was stuck with the Other. But at least now, it had a form. No longer would it be some shadow that lurked below his skin. He could recognize it.

Since it was _his _Other, Scott began to think of the wolf as a _him_.

Scott wondered if he could influence his Other, the way he influenced Scott. He remembered its refusal to leave him alone. He pondered what the Other wanted from him. Maybe this was the solution to gaining control.

Scott took a page out of Stiles's book and started avidly consuming any and all research of werewolves and wolves. During this time he stayed away from the forest with no moon.

He'd learned a lot, although he wasn't sure what it all meant. One of the more surprising revelations was that wolves didn't typically kill out of murderous rage, but out of hunger, to protect the pack, or out of self-defense.

These were motives that Scott could understand, though he hoped to never kill again. Wolves killed, but never for the sake of simply spilling blood. Although it was plain that wolves had no qualms about eating raw meat and enjoyed the kills they did make.

Scott examined the impulses he had, cataloging them into human and wolf.

The pleasure experienced from killing the deer?

Wolf.

As was the satisfying memory of the taste of blood that lingered on his tongue.

The urge to resist Peter's control?

Human.

The desire to protect his friends and family belonged to both species and Scott didn't bother trying to give one more weight than the other in this department.

His excitement at detecting fear in those around him?

Wolf.

His desire to kill when angered or emotionally charged?

_Human._

This realization stunned Scott. Throughout his entire change, he had always blamed the wolf for when his emotions drove his violence. But now Scott understood that it was only when wolf and man collided in one being that savage killings without true purpose began to surface. Scott grasped that the murderous impulses he had were more human than animal. There was plenty of evidence testifying to the savage and senseless brutality perpetrated by people. You just had to turn on the news.

The wolf gave him the means to satiate his bloodlust, but the supernaturally empowered human in him had the motive.

Maybe the change had brought not only animal instincts, but also human instincts to the surface as well.

If this was the case, his Other wasn't the only reason he lost control. Maybe that's what the wolf wanted him to recognize. Maybe it wasn't the source of his darkest urges after all.

Scott thought about when Peter forced him to shift in the school and compelled him to pursue the death of his friends. Ultimately, it wasn't Scott's bloodlust that called out for tribute that night, it was Peter's. It was the man in Peter that demanded vengeance and wanted Scott as his weapon to carry out his plans. Peter happily abused their supernatural tie in order to achieve his ends.

Maybe the wolf could show him how to reign in his other instincts. But he wouldn't know if he avoided the forest in his mind.

Scott worked up the nerve to once again visit the forest and face his wolf.

Instead of vanishing into the forest when they reached the cliff, the wolf stepped closer to the edge and looked towards the horizon. This time, a full moon hung above the landscape, larger than life. The glow was hypnotic and it stirred in Scott a primal desire.

The wolf lifted its head towards the moon and howled a single uninterrupted note. The cry sent a chill down Scott's spine, calling to something deep inside him. His Other. Scott wanted to howl too, but his human side fought the urge.

Without glancing in his direction, the Other raised his head and howled again, this time louder. Despite the objections of his human side, Scott found himself answering the call with one of his own. Not the low roar of his previous attempts, but a true howl and near-perfect imitation of his wolf's song to the moon.

Before Scott could gauge the creature's response, he woke up.

Scott found when returned to reality, the wolf began seeping into his daily life.

He noticed that his reflexes had improved and the senses he had ignored in favor of his sense of smell became stronger. The world seemed sharper, triggering him to truly observe the wealth of stimuli his Other detected for the first time. Without thinking, he now moved with the fluid ease he had in the forest. More than once he caught himself reacting to a sound or smell in a distinctly wolf-like way.

He was undeniably becoming less human. And yet, he didn't feel any less himself for it. The idea made him feel uncomfortable at first, but slowly, the strangeness of the situation faded.

Rather than fight it like before, he started paying attention when his Other stirred to life. When he acknowledged his wolf-side, it astonished Scott to find he had a greater ability to act human when he wanted.

His edginess decreased. Rather than rage, his Other gave rise the calm he craved.


	11. Chapter 11

Almost a week had passed since the incident and Stiles finally felt confident in his answer.

Once he knew what he was looking for, Stiles dedicated most of his time to researching werewolf and wolf packs. Finding out why they formed and how they usually behaved.

Drawing parallels between the two hadn't been easy. Although he thought that wolves and werewolves would behave similarly, he found that werewolves' human tendencies often came into play. This made understanding their packs more difficult than he anticipated.

And, although he was loath to admit it, he was still avoiding Scott.

He'd only seen his friend at the second track tryout they had during the week. Scott had wisely maintained his distance, allowing Stiles the space he needed to come to terms with what happened.

Stiles suspected that what happened was a one-time occurrence. But he still couldn't purge the image of Scott, covered with blood and gore, from his memory and it was seriously freaking him out. He needed a little more time before he could face his friend.

But Stiles had finally exhausted his delay tactics. He thought he figured out what was going on and was eager to share his theory with Scott. He just wasn't sure he'd be able to do so without cowering like a baby.

He sucked it up and went over to the McCall's.

The front door was unlocked and he jogged straight up the stairs to Scott's room. When he opened the door, he saw Scott sitting on his bed, legs crossed Indian style, eyes closed.

"What the hell are you doing?" Stiles asked. Yet again, he'd barged into Scott's bedroom to a scene he failed to predict.

"What? Whoa!"

Scott toppled over onto the floor. Stiles noted that he managed to land in a perfect crouch. That was new. Before he could comment, Scott had returned to a seated position on the bed.

"Stiles? What are you doing here?"

"What am I doing? What the hell are you doing?"

"I'm meditating."

"Meditating? Why would you be meditating?"

"I've been having these dreams," Scott admitted. Stiles ran a hand through his hair, concern flickered across his face.

"You have? That's worrisome."

"Yeah. I'm not sure what they mean," Scott said. He furrowed his brows. "What are you doing here?"

"I think I know what's going on."

"You do? Thank god! What's going on?"

Scott breathed a sigh of relief. Another thought struck him. Shyly, he asked a question he'd was afraid to have answered.

"Are we ok?"

"Um, yeah." Stiles kicked his foot awkwardly on the floor. "We're ok."

Naturally, Scott's smelled the lie. And the fear behind it.

"You're still afraid of me."

Crestfallen, Scott hugged his knees to his chest, as if he was attempting to make himself seem smaller. Stiles sighed.

"Back to my theory about what happened. So, you and Isaac decided to go into the woods together."

"So?"

Stiles began pacing the length of Scott's bedroom, careful to avoid meeting Scott's eyes.

"And you have no idea why you..."

Scott frowned, annoyed by his own lack of insight into the cause of the other night's gruesome act. No matter how much he puzzled over it, he still had no idea why it happened.

"No. I mean, it just happened. It was late, we were outside. I don't know why we did it."

"You and Isaac are forming a pack."

Scott was dumbstruck. Then he laughed.

"Stiles, that's nuts. Isaac's part of Derek's pack. I think that's been pretty clear."

"He was. Until you both decided to...you know."

"No. No way."

Scott shook his head. He had enough of werewolf packs be it Peter's pack or Derek's pack, _thank you very much_.

"I think you two killed the deer as part of an instinctual drive to create a new pack. It doesn't mean one of you is an alpha. Yet. But it does mean that you've decided to align yourselves. At least, as werewolves."

"But…I don't want to be part of a pack. I'm an omega."

"First of all, do you really believe that Scott? You may be a lot of things, but a loner you are not. Also, it doesn't matter what you say you want. Subconsciously, you made the decision. Remember when Peter tried to get you to kill the bus driver?"

"Yeah, but Peter's psychotic. Remember when he tried to kill, oh, everyone?"

"Well, it's the same principle. You killed together and this binds you together, cementing both of you as a pack."

"But…we're not a pack!" Scott said. Stiles noticed Scott clenched his fists and narrowed his eyes, a time-honored sign he was refusing to budge on his position.

Stiles rolled his eyes. Honestly, Scott could be so stubborn sometimes. But this was familiar ground and Stiles knew all he had to do was plough ahead. Eventually, he could make his friend see reason.

"All the research I've done points to the opposite conclusion. Whether you like it or not.

"Fact: Isaac went with you into the preserve, without Derek's knowledge. This shows that Derek's position as Isaac's Alpha isn't as strong as he thought it was."

"Wait, how did you know Isaac went out without Derek's permission?" Scott asked.

"Because obviously if Derek knew what you were up to, he'd never have let Isaac out of his sight," Stiles responded. "Anyway, I've got more in my list so stop interrupting, Scott.

"Fact: Peter tried to get you to kill with him in order to bring you into his pack permanently. Although he was able to make you shift against your will, he couldn't make you kill with him. Which meant you never really became part of his pack.

"Fact: You and Isaac have been hanging out an awful lot and last week you killed a deer together. And I'm willing to bet you weren't human when you did it. Do the math Scott. What else could it mean?"

They sat in silence for a few minutes, the magnitude of Stiles's theory sinking in.

"So, what now?" asked Scott.

"Well, I guess you need to talk to Isaac," Stiles replied. "By the way, can I just say...you two ate a deer. Raw. I saw the pictures."

"There are pictures?!" Scott sank back against the wall, mortified.

"Oh yeah, from animal control. Very graphic. So, which one of you ate the heart?"

Scott raised his hand, face burning bright red from embarrassment. Stiles did a double-take. Not the answer he expected.

"And the liver?"

Scott raised his hand again, averting his eyes from Stiles's shocked face.

"The worst part is..." the teen mumbled something Stiles couldn't catch.

"What was that?"

"It tasted good." Stiles gawked at Scott. Scott continued and Stiles swore he saw him salivating at the memory. "Like, really, really, good. Delicious."

"Oh, my god. That is disturbing on so many levels," Stiles felt his skin crawl and he fought the urge to run. But if he could overlook potential human organ consumption by his childhood crush, Lydia, he figured he should overlook actual animal organ consumption by Scott.

"Tell me about it," Scott said. The werewolf looked slightly green, his human half clearly grossed out by the other half's dining proclivities. "I liked it better when I didn't remember these things."

"What were you doing in the woods that night anyway?" Stiles ventured awkwardly. He still saw the monster lurking in the back of his mind. Getting back to normal was not going to be as easy as he'd hoped.

"We were trying to find out if there is an alpha pack here, after all."

Scott winced at Stiles's sharp intake of breath.

"I know, I know. It was a dumb idea."

"Yeah, like, epic dumb! What if you two had actually found this pack of alphas? Then what? Pretty sure it would have ended in death! They could have filleted you! I mean, look at how unfriendly Derek is and he's not even your enemy!"

"You're starting to sound like my mom."

"I doubt your mom nags you about traipsing through the woods in search of hostile werewolves."

"You'd be surprised," Scott sulked. "Anyway, we didn't find anything. No tracks, no strange scents, nada."

"Well, that's some good news."

"I'm still not convinced they aren't there. Maybe they're just good at covering up their tracks."

"We'll have to do some research and see if there's anything on alphas forming packs. Also, we should check the police reports for strange activity. With Isaac, we can increase our manpower, so that's a plus."

"You're going to help?"

"Of course I'm going to help," Stiles rolled his eyes. "You're my best friend."

Scott could tell there was still some fear underneath Stiles's bravado.

"Thanks."

"And Isaac is part of your pack."

"We're not a pack."

"Keep telling yourself that."

Scott's phone buzzed and a text from Isaac flashed up on the screen. Before he could hide the phone, Stiles looked at the screen.

"Oh, look who it is," said Stiles. "Don't wanna keep your pack waiting."

The werewolf scowled as he typed a response to Isaac's message.

"He's on his way."

"Of course he is."

* * *

"You're joking," Isaac looked from Scott to Stiles and back to Scott. "We kill a deer and now suddenly we're a pack? That doesn't even make any sense."

"Thank you," Scott said. He waved his arm, as if Isaac's statement proved his point. "But Stiles claims he has research to back it up."

"Believe me, I don't like the idea any more than you do," said Stiles. "Actually, less probably. Mostly, because I don't trust Lahey. Seeing as he leapt at the chance to attack Lydia."

Stiles glared at Isaac. Isaac shrugged. This was an argument he knew he'd lose.

"And apparently, you can't even stay loyal to your own pack. What's to stop you from turning on Scott?"

"Someone's jealous," Isaac smirked. "I can smell it. Poor Stiles, always left out."

"You wish."

"What makes you the expert, anyway? You're not even one of us."

"Unlike you, I actually crack a book every now and then. Which helps when you want to learn things. You should try it."

"Knock it off, guys!" said Scott. "Can we focus. Please."

"Fine!" The other two boys responded in unison. Scott tried not to laugh. They really were more alike than they'd admit.

"Ok, so say Stiles is right. And I'm not saying he is," Isaac said. He looked at Scott pointedly. "What next?"

Stiles bristled at the snub.

"I don't know." Scott put an arm in front of Stiles, holding him back. "We need to keep it quiet, if we can. Dig around for more information."

Stiles stopped thrashing in his vain attempt to beat the crap out of Isaac.

"You're gonna have to be a lot more careful." Stiles now tapped his foot, thinking out loud. "Because you can bet that your little midnight snack will piss off Derek when he finds out. And if there is a pack of alphas, this will put you on their radar, that's for sure."


	12. Chapter 12

Deucalion stood over the carcass, now crawling with maggots. A ten-point buck, at least 200 pounds of pure muscle. The stink of decay rose from the body, choking the air to the point of overpowering almost all other smells.

Almost.

He could just barely detect the presence of the two werewolves responsible for the rather impressive kill.

Liver and heart both missing-the most nutritious organs. And the most delicious. Traditionally, the privilege of eating the best parts of a kill belonged to the Alpha. But these hadn't been consumed by an alpha.

A human would not be able to learn much, had one been able to even register the scents. But the werewolf could piece together a profile of the killers, a wealth of information available via his nose and eyes. They were young, male. Teenagers. Both had been turned, their scent rank with the lingering stench of human that took years to fade.

One reeked of the Hale Alpha. No doubt the blond beta he'd observed at the ruined house talking with Derek and that uncle of his. Isaac, he was called.

The other didn't smell like the Hales, which meant he wasn't part of their pack. This must be the omega, Scott, who irked Derek so greatly. Apparently his strong will was a constant irritation. Strangely, the omega smelled faintly of Argent, as if he'd spent time with the hunters. Deucalion suspected he'd had a prolonged run-in with the lethal family. And somehow managed to survive.

That the boy from the Hale pack and this omega had killed together was an interesting development. The absence of Derek's scent at the scene meant the alpha had yet to discover the treachery.

That the omega had claimed the prized cuts of the kill interested Deucalion even more. The implications posed all sorts of strategic possibilities.

Clearly, it offered further proof that the Hale pack was crumbling under Derek's rule. The betas who'd been so eager to abandon their alpha for a new pack had painted a very interesting picture. It was inevitable that he'd spawn a kanima in his misguided attempts to cobble together a base of power.

As Alpha, Deucalion understood the importance of a strong pack—and a strong leader. His pack was a rarity, consisting only of the strongest of their kind. This new development meant they needed to adjust their plans. But he didn't mind. He was going to enjoy his time in Beacon Hills. Very much.

He smiled to himself and left the clearing, careful to brush away his tracks with a gloved hand as he retreated.

Time to go share his findings with the others.


	13. Chapter 13

"I warned you things would get out of hand with Isaac and Scott. And now they have."

Peter Hale surveyed the deer corpse with a casual interest. Though he acted unaffected, he had to admit he was surprised. It wasn't that he didn't believe Scott capable of subverting Derek's control as Alpha. Far from it.

Derek had proven rather inept in the leadership role he stole from Peter. This made his loosely aligned pack rather ripe for the plucking. Two runaways and a potential third deserter didn't bode well for Derek's power play.

What he hadn't expected was that Scott managed to embrace his werewolf nature enough to complete the kill needed to bind himself to Isaac. Given his strong defiance of Peter's previous attempts to force him to kill, it seemed somewhat out of character for the young werewolf. No doubt the deed repulsed Scott, given all the moaning he did about his lost humanity.

Peter suspected it resulted from an involuntary desire to be part of a pack, rather than an intentional choice. Though he wouldn't say so out loud, Peter admired the teen's nerve to boldly recruit a known member of another's pack. He had underestimated his original beta's will to further his independence from the Hales' influence.

Inwardly, Peter smiled. Served his nephew right for killing him. Outwardly, he played the part of obedient beta.

"They're beginning to form their own pack," said Peter.

"We don't know that," said Derek.

Derek knew Scott and Isaac had become close, but now, it seemed their closeness threatened his position as Alpha. No matter how hard he tried, his newfound authority continued to slip through his fingers, like sand through a sieve.

"Oh, don't get so worked up." Peter rolled his eyes. "Despite his trumping us all with Gerard's downfall, I doubt this was through any grand plan on Scott's part. Most likely just base instinct. Regardless, you need to do something about it."

Derek hated to admit it, but his uncle was right. The situation had spun out of his control. Like Peter, he didn't believe the joint kill to be an intentional transgression. But it made him worry about what came next.

Derek frowned at the scene before him. The deer was bigger than anything he'd taken down by himself and he'd yet to have a hunt with Isaac. He found it was harder than he expected to convey the importance of werewolf rituals, even to someone like Isaac, who'd embraced the change. The gulf between the teen's old world and the life Derek had always known seemed insurmountable for the alpha to bridge.

Without saying so, Isaac clearly perceived this divide between them and as a consequence turned to someone more like him, someone who understood the world he inhabited before he turned. This difference in their personal histories was costing Derek the only defense he had against powerful enemies bent on his destruction.

Without a pack, the alphas would rut him utterly, leaving him unable to protect anyone from the impending slaughter. Isaac's loyalty gave him strength not only in numbers, but greater strength as a wolf.

"What do I do now?"

"Well, as I see it, there are three options," said Peter. He moved to the other side of clearing, knelt down and began examining a bare patch of dirt. "You could do nothing. Which, for reasons that should be obvious to even you, I don't advise."

Derek clenched his jaw.

"You could punish them both with force and assert your claim as Alpha," Peter continued. "While cathartic, this would most likely not have the desired result of bringing young Isaac back into the fold."

"No kidding."

"That leaves option three: convince Scott to join your pack. Of course, this requires a certain tact and social panache. Which we know aren't your most prominent strengths."

"So you think it's hopeless."

"Not necessarily. Given your history with Scott, you're going to have to put a lot of work in. A lot of work. But…convince him and Isaac will fall into line," Peter said. He stood up, satisfied with his investigation of the mysterious section of ground. He brushed some dirt of his sleeve and walked back towards Derek. "It could be done."

"How?"

"By becoming the boy's friend."

Peter clapped his nephew on the shoulder with a strong hand.

"Oh, I know teenagers can be insufferable. But you need to think of the end game. Stop trying to force him to do what you want. Instead, make him want to help you. The first step is to understand him."

"Scott loves Allison and hates being a werewolf. Pretty sure that's the gist. I understand him perfectly."

"Which proves you understand him very little. Don't be arrogant. After all, you were his age once. He has other motivations. You need to truly get to know him. Find out what his hopes are. What he does for fun. What his daily worries are."

"So you think I should what, hang out? Go to dinner like we're buddies? Watch his lacrosse games?"

"You could offer to help him improve his skills as one of us. He's still relatively new, after all. He might be open to learning from you. If there were no strings attached."

"I guess that could work."

"It would be a good first step. And you should do it soon."

"Why's that?"

"Because," Peter said. He guided Derek towards the dirt patch he'd been scrutinizing earlier. He gestured towards a small section.

Derek crouched and looked at the area his uncle indicated. There were marks as if someone had swept over the dirt with a branch or hand. What Peter noticed was that they had missed a spot. A nearly imperceptible fragment of a boot print remained in the otherwise smoothed over earth. And with it lingered a faint scent. It was enough to make Derek's blood run cold. An alpha had been here.

"We're not the only ones who know about this little rebellion."


	14. Chapter 14

Scott sighed and flopped down onto his bed, relieved to finally have some time to himself. This was Scott's first chance to be alone with his thoughts all day.

He, Isaac, and Stiles had spent the afternoon strategizing. A main topic of discussion concerned how to approach Derek. They also debated the best methods for discovering more about the alpha pack.

They decided Stiles and Isaac would begin their research into the alpha pack by combing police records. Scott would attempt to track down more background about alphas and this particular pack by talking to Deaton. Scott had the feeling his boss could shed some light on the situation; he just wasn't sure how much of his knowledge the vet would divulge.

As for Derek, they hadn't come to a consensus. Scott wanted to take the direct approach and assure Derek they hadn't meant anything by it. He felt Derek was their best chance at finding out the truth about the alpha pack. While Deaton may know a lot, there could be insights werewolves kept hidden from even the most trusted human. Scott also had no desire to burn any more bridges between himself and the younger Hale. Plus, it didn't hurt to have an ally if trouble really was headed their way. Scott figured he'd rather throw in with the devil he knew than simply hope for the best.

Isaac thought the best tactic was to say nothing until Derek broached the subject. Stiles took this idea one step further by suggesting they avoid Derek altogether.

His thoughts turned to his Other.

Scott wasn't sure he was ready to share his experiences in the forest with Isaac. It felt wrong to tell him before Stiles, anyway. Especially given Stiles's jealousy that Isaac enjoyed baiting.

But he was unsure how Stiles would react to the news that Scott was moving closer to the part of himself that had caused their brief rift in the first place. He hadn't told Stiles anything about what happened when he meditated. Stiles, for his part, hadn't asked. Although Stiles had acted like his usual self this afternoon, Scott could tell his friend was going through the motions and pretending everything was normal.

His reverie was interrupted by the sound of his mom coming up the stairs. And she wasn't alone. Scott leaped to his feet. When his mom knocked and opened the door to his bedroom, his senses were on high-alert.

"Scott? You have a visitor."

He didn't reply. His mom stepped back, a confused look on her face. The intruder stepped forward and Scott's expression became a mirror of his mom's.

"Derek?"

Derek took one step over the threshold. Scott's mom gave her son a concerned glance. He was pretty sure she recognized Derek from the night at the police station when Matt took them all hostage. Her acceptance of Scott's dual nature didn't necessarily extend to strange werewolves she knew only from a police station brawl.

"It's ok," he assured her. She hesitated, and then turned to leave.

"I'll be downstairs. You call me if you need anything." She shot Derek a menacing mom-glare and went back into the hall. "Anything."

"We need to talk," Derek said. He took another step forward and shut the door behind him. In his severe leather jacket, the dour young man looked out of place in the friendly comfort of the room.

Scott waited until he heard his mom turn the TV on in the den before he spoke.

"You used the door." He couldn't keep the surprise out his voice. Usually Derek's visits began with his ambushing Scott in his own room or by his entrances via window. Today, the how of his arrival trumped the why.

Derek rolled his eyes.

"I know how to use a door, Scott."

"Well, now I realize that. So, you're here because you found out about the deer."

"Yes."

"It was an accident. You see…"

Scott braced himself, preparing for the inevitable wall-slam Derek preferred when posing questions.

"I know."

"You do?"

Scott straightened, surprised. Derek didn't seem angry. Something was wrong. Why wasn't Derek angry?

The wolf inside him raised his hackles. Derek arched an eyebrow. Scott could smell the other werewolf's curiosity. He took a step forward, refusing to give ground and speak first.

Derek pursed his lips, annoyed by Scott's defiance. Especially when the teen was behaving more like an Alpha than the omega he was. Derek wanted nothing more than to shift and prove to Scott that he didn't have what it took to rule a pack, much less steal Derek's.

Derek balled his hands into fists, swallowing his pride. He broke the silence.

"There's something more important we need to discuss."

For a brief moment Scott felt triumphant. Then he realized that Derek's brushing over the deer incident could only mean one thing.

"There is an alpha pack."

"Yes. And they're dangerous."

"Of course they are," Scott sighed. "So what do you want from me?"

"I want to train you. You need to be prepared for what's coming."

"Thanks, but I don't need you smashing anymore of my cell phones or chasing me through dark parking garages."

"Ok, maybe I deserve that." Derek tilted his head in acknowledgement of his past teaching attempts. "But, it won't be like before. We'll do things differently this time."

Scott eyed the other werewolf suspiciously. He'd never given Scott information without a price. He wondered what Derek wanted in return for his generosity. The Other raised his hackles once more.

"And why would you help me?"

"Because." Aside from Allison, Derek realized there was another important motivator for Scott he overlooked before. One he hoped would override Scott's heightened suspicion. "If they come for me, Isaac's going to need help."

"What about Peter?"

"You and I both know that's not an option. Isaac doesn't trust Peter."

"And he shouldn't," Scott said.

"But as your little hunt proved, Isaac trusts you. It's my duty to keep him safe. I think you would protect him, but if you hope to succeed, you need greater control. And I can teach you that much."

Scott mulled this over. On the surface, it didn't make sense that Derek would rely on him over his own flesh and blood. But Peter had killed Derek's sister simply to become Alpha. A betrayal like that would make anyone think twice before trusting the man with the life of someone they wanted to protect.

Scott wasn't sure he was getting the full story but he didn't detect any hint of deception. Derek was sincere. His Other relaxed and he made his decision.

"Ok. I accept. When do we start?"

"Tomorrow. Sunrise. Meet me at the Beacon Hills' Preserve east entrance," said Derek. He moved towards the door, but turned back before he opened it. "Thank you."

With that, he silently slipped out of the room and headed to the front door.

Scott sat back down on the bed. He had to admit that regardless of all the mistakes Derek had made as Alpha, he had done so with the intention of safeguarding his pack. Even if he only cared about Isaac's safety, anything Derek taught Scott would help him protect his mom and his other friends. Still, Scott resolved to keep his guard up and listen to his instincts. The wolf in the night forest had taught him that much.

Danger was coming, and he meant to be ready for it. But he couldn't face it alone.


	15. Chapter 15

Stiles bounded up the stairs and into his bedroom. He had some tasty takeout burgers from the drive-thru and a new action-movie download to help take his mind off of anything werewolf related. It was Friday and he still had almost three more weeks of summer vacation. Life was good.

He plunked himself down on the cushy rolling desk-chair his Dad gave him for his birthday. It resembled a seat from a Fortune 500 CEO boardroom. Stiles loved it.

He dropped the bag of greasy burgers on the desk and booted up his computer, eager to kill some brain cells with mindless entertainment. He was so excited for his evening that he didn't notice the werewolf sitting on his windowsill. After a few minutes, the figure cleared its throat and Stiles jolted in his chair, causing him to fall over backwards. He hit the floor with a THUNK!

"Jesus, Scott! Don't DO that!"

"Sorry. Just wanted to let you know I was here."

"Yeah, well, maybe you could knock or come through the door like a normal person."

Stiles got to his feet and righted his chair. Luckily, the burgers were still safely on the desk.

"But, Stiles, I'm not normal," Scott gave a bitter laugh. He sounded far older than his sixteen years. "I'm not even human anymore."

It was the first time Stiles ever heard Scott admit it out loud.

Stiles glanced at his friend. Scott was watching him with the calm, steady gaze that made him feel like a mouse in the sights of a hungry tiger. A too familiar fear began to creep up Stiles's spine.

As if he'd read his mind, Scott looked away.

"Sorry. I didn't mean to do that."

"Do what?"

Stiles tried to brush the moment aside. He was doing his best to act like everything was status quo.

"Make you feel like…prey."

_How the hell had Scott known that?_

Then Stiles realized that Scott had smelled his fear. Worried that he did, in fact, smell like prey to a werewolf, Stiles sat down in the CEO chair and scooted away from his desk. And the window.

"I'm not gonna hurt you. You know that, right?"

Stiles felt a pang of remorse at the hurt on Scott's face. But his uneasiness trumped sparing Scott's feelings at the moment. He spun his chair towards the door, hiding his face. Stiles had the unfortunate knack for telegraphing his thoughts straight onto his expressive face. He didn't want Scott to see how terrified he was.

"I get why you're freaked out," Scott said.

Something snapped inside him and Stiles whirled his chair around to face Scott.

"No, you don't. You don't have a clue what it's like for me."

He stood and started pacing.

"You have no idea what it was like to open that door and see a...a _monster_," Stiles paused when he saw his friend cringe. But he couldn't stop the words from spilling out. "With yellow eyes and fangs, licking blood off its claws like it was no big deal! And the worst part? Deep down, I know that _thing_ was you.

"How am I supposed to wrap my head around that Scott? How am I supposed to pretend that everything's ok, when even right now, part of me just wants to run the other way?

"And to answer your question, yes, I _know_ you wouldn't hurt me. But that doesn't make me feel any safer."

Stiles ended his outburst, his breathing ragged. But he felt better now he'd gotten the truth out.

Scott stared at the floor.

"And now you hate me," Stiles sighed. "Listen, I'm sorry. I'm freaked out. It's gonna be a while before I stop being freaked out."

"I know."

"Also, kudos for finally coming out of the non-human closet. About time."

The joke managed to get a smile from Scott.

"Actually, that's kinda why I'm here."

Stiles sat back down. He motioned for Scott to come into the room. Though he looked like he wanted to comply, Scott remained planted on the windowsill. Stiles shrugged and pulled a burger out of the bag.

He tossed it to Scott, who easily caught it one-handed.

"Thanks."

Scott unwrapped his burger and took a bite. It had plenty of cheese, bacon, and globs of mystery sauce that tasted amazing. Lucky for Scott, Stiles didn't adhere to the same strict diet he forced upon his father. Stiles took a burger out for himself.

"So, you remember when I said I had been having dreams?" Scott began.

"Uh huh."

Stiles had already finished his burger and now he scavenged through the bag for the curly fries he'd ordered.

"What sort of dreams, again?"

"Well, they were like the one of Allison in the bus. Except without anyone real."

"Obviously. Otherwise I would have heard about a bunch of people being found mauled to death. You may not know this, but my dad's the sheriff."

Scott rolled his eyes and continued his story.

"They started after I refused Derek as my Alpha. I think they were caused by the Other. Trying to communicate with me."

'The other?"

"Yeah. That's what I call it."

"Call what?"

"My werewolf side."

"O-K. So what was this 'Other'," Stiles made air quotes. "Trying to tell you?"

"It wanted me to listen. It, he, wanted me to stop...ignoring him. Or stop using my other side to suppress him."

"How many sides do you have, exactly?"

Scott scowled.

"You know werewolf means "Man-wolf" in old English?" Scott asked.

"Seeing as I've done more research on this than you, yes, I knew that already."

"Well, I think that's what I've been doing wrong. Why it's been so...difficult. I'm trying so hard to be human that I've neglected the wolf. When I do that, it fights back and things go badly."

"And that's when you try to kill someone. Like me. Or Jackson. Or Allison. Or…"

"Pretty much," Scott interrupted before Stiles could list everyone he may have attempted to attack.

"So that's why you've been meditating? You're trying to commune with the tiny wolf inside you?"

"You make it sound like I'm crazy."

"You can't deny it sounds crazy."

"Well, Deaton said I need to accept what I am. All of it."

"I believe I also told you this, oh, eight months ago. Right after we discovered Derek had buried his sister beneath a spiral of wolfsbane."

Scott tilted his head for a moment, thinking back.

"Huh. You totally did. Who knew?"

"Me, that's who! So is it working?"

"Actually, yeah. I have more control. Even more than when I had Allison for an anchor and things were going great."

"So who's your anchor now? Lahey?" Stiles snickered.

"Isaac's still in Derek's pack!"

"And yours now too. It's kinda like joint custody. Derek gets him on weekends and holidays. You get him during school and practice."

"Shut up!" Scott groaned. He had the feeling Stiles was never gonna let the joke go. "Though that reminds me. Derek's giving me more werewolf lessons tomorrow."

"Fun. Just be sure to leave your phone behind."

"No kidding."

They sat there for a few minutes, neither sure what to say next.

"Hey, wanna watch a movie?" Stiles gestured toward the computer. "There'll be lots of crazy fight scenes, I promise. And an evil genius with a British accent."

"Sure. Why _do_ British people seem to have the market on super-villainy cornered?"

"Beats me."

Scott eased into the room and pulled Stiles's retired desk chair up next to the CEO chair so he could see the screen. Stiles started the movie and they fell into a comfortable silence.

Things weren't back to normal, but it was a good start.


End file.
